


Improv at Its Finest

by kmfillz



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Batcest, Face-Fucking, M/M, Prostitution, Roleplay, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmfillz/pseuds/kmfillz
Summary: "Give us some privacy, Walt. Rentboy Wonder here's going to show me how he plays Batman and Robin, free of charge."





	Improv at Its Finest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



"I'm not Robin."

His captor laughed. It was a familiar laugh, but uglier somehow than Dick was used to. Crueler. The hard tip of Doctor Farnstrom's walking stick prodded Dick in the stomach. "Who else wanders around this part of town at night dressed in green panties? Pull the other one, Boy Wonder."

(It was a _leotard_. Optimal for unrestricted movement, and frankly, Dick looked great in it.)

Dick hung his head pathetically and let his knees splay a little further open.

(If the outfit disracted the enemy, that wasn't a bad thing either.)

Dick sucked in a ragged breath. "I thought if you believed I was really Robin, you'd let me go. It's just a costume, mister, I swear!" His voice grew thick, until it was on the edge of a sob. "Please, I didn't see anything. _Please--_ "

Farnstrom struck him across the face, the blow loud enough to echo off the concrete walls of the brightly lit interrogation room. Dick's plea broke off with a pained cry. His head swung to the side; his whole body shook with the force of the blow.

(No one would believe Dick if he told them how Batman had insisted Robin learn slapstick. No one would believe him how often it came in handy.)

The cords binding his arms to the metal chair seemed a little looser, but Dick wasn't planning to test that theory just yet.

"Liar!" his captor roared, and that echoed too, filling the room with sound. "If you're here," he spat, "where's Batman?"

Dick looked up none too innocently through disheveled bangs. "Right in front of me, sir." Blue eyes met his. "If you like."

The looming figure before him paused, for the moment too disconcerted by the answer to be angry. Forgotten, the end of the walking stick hit the floor with a sharp tap, startling both men. "What." He advanced on Dick. "Exactly." He grabbed Dick's hair and yanked his head back so that Dick was looking straight into his furious face. "Is that supposed to mean?"

"You know..." Dick squeaked, then cleared his throat. "Guys pay me to be Robin to their Batman -- get it?"

He got it. Boy did he get it. Inches away from Dick's ear, his captor's breath hitched. For a fraction of a second, the grip on his hair tightened, and Dick saw Bruce's face grow still and dark. The urge to smile that had risen in Dick's chest before shattered and blew away. But when he blinked, Farnstrom's scowl was once more twisting Bruce's features (enhanced with a bit of putty and makeup) into an unfamiliar shape.

"You seriously expect me to believe this crap?"

"It's true!" Dick insisted desperately. He could have chosen any story, with a willing accomplice on hand to help him sell it, but some part of him that ought to be in Arkham had chosen this one, and it was too late to turn back now, whatever the consequences. "It's a popular fantasy around these parts; ask any of the boys who work this district."

That _was_ true, which only made it worse. It didn't take much creativity for the vulgar mind to see a grown man running around with a boy by his side and attribute the foulest motivations to it. Dick wasn't that little boy any longer, but the impression had lingered, and with it, the accompanying slander.

Dick tilted his head to the side. He let his voice grow warmer, his expression more sly. "But none of the other boys have a costume..." He raised his eyebrows.

(It was offensive. Dick had nearly punched Roy once for making those insinuations about Batman. It wasn't a funny joke. It certainly wasn't hot. If questioned -- and holy nightmare in a barrel, Dick hoped he'd never be questioned about it -- Dick would absolutely not admit to ever having been kept awake at night by that thought with his boxers pushed down and his fingers where he wanted Bruce to be.)

"Huh," Farnstrom said eloquently.

He released Dick's hair and leaned back, evaluating him. One large hand reached out to run a palm over the 'R' on his chest. "No armor," he muttered, as if to himself, but loud enough still for the guard by the door and the microphones on the security camera in the corner to pick up. His fingers traced the seam down Dick's side to the hip. Dick's heartbeat sped up.

"Looks fancy, but it's just fabric." He wasn't looking at Dick's face, which Dick was grateful for, and doubly so when Bruce's hand landed on his thigh, warm and heavy, sliding down his leg. "And lookit, his legs are bare as your mamma's pussy." Farnstrom squeezed Dick's knee and began to grin. "This isn't Robin."

"Robin doesn't wear leggings either," the guard protested. He might not be quite convinced yet, but he'd said 'either', which was promising. Honestly, there were parts of Dick that were already a little too convinced.

Farnstrom snorted. "Of course he does. Skin-colored ones, maybe. You ever heard of Robin with a skinned knee? If I was the Bat and I was sending my kid out to fight grown men, I'd make sure he was wearing armor and leggings."

"Maybe the Bat doesn't think like you or me." _Keep the funnies coming,_ Dick begged the guy. His only hope lay in Bruce having a sense of humor about this. "Maybe he likes to see a little skin." ...So much for that.

Farnstrom's grin broadened to eat half his face. It wasn't a Bruce kind of smile. A shiver ran over Dick's skin. "Maybe not. But if you think this one's the real Robin, I've got a batmobile I could sell you. The only thing dangerous about the kid is how pretty his mouth is." His rough fingertips brushed Dick's lips, which parted without Dick thinking about it.

The guard made a noise of disgust. "You want a piece of that, he's all yours, brother."

"Give us some privacy, Walt. Rentboy Wonder here's going to show me how he plays Batman and Robin, free of charge."

Dick closed his eyes in despair. He was in for it now. To his surprise, when Bruce spoke again, it was with Farnstrom's Central City twang. "I'm going to untie you now, sweetcheeks, but no funny business, because you see that camera there?" He pointed. "My buddy Steve's on the other end of that feed. You remember Steve." Farnstrom stroked the bruise that was forming on Dick's left cheekbone. Dick remembered the fist that laid that bruise, but it was Steve's sawed-off shotgun that concerned Dick more.

Dick searched Bruce's face for a hint of how he wanted to handle this. One guard in the corridor, another down the hall with a gun and a video feed, and a cover identity Bruce had put weeks of groundwork into. They were so close to identifying the Bloody Professor's suppliers. If Dick hadn't misjudged that rickety gutter, if Steve hadn't had that gun, if Dick had only come up with a cover story other than "I dress as Robin to live out sick fantasies attributed to a man who would never even think of such a thing," none of this would be happening.

(But what if Dick wanted it to happen?)

His arms were freed first, then Bruce knelt (between Dick's legs) to untie his ankles. Once released, Dick stood and stretched slowly, making no sudden movements. Farnstrom watched passively.

"This is your chance, kid. Time to show me what it is you do. Do it well enough and maybe I'll let you walk."

The ball was in Dick's court. After all of Dick's errors tonight, Bruce was trusting him to take the lead in this life-or-death game of improv. Dick was floating on a cloud of disbelief as he stepped forward, until his hands came into contact with Bruce's shirt, and through it Bruce's chest, grounding him in disbelief of a completely different variety. Bruce was allowing this. He was allowing Dick to do this.

Dick wondered what new airborne mind altering substance the Bloody Professor was running through the facility's vents; it was the only way he could explain why after all that had happened already, Dick gave into the urge to push his luck again.

"So." Dick undid the collar button on Farnstrom's pin stripe blue shirt. "How does Batman want his Robin?"

Bruce's chest rose and fell quietly under Dick's hands as he worked his way down the next three buttons. At any second, he expected Bruce to grab his wrists and push him away. Every second that Bruce didn't made his nerves string tighter, until Dick could have been broken with a word. Bruce remained silent. His face held no clues to what he was thinking; Farnstrom's leer was frozen on it like a death rictus. How badly astray had Dick taken this? Of course there was no answer to that question. Batman didn't want Robin, not like that. Dick found his hands were shaking too much to undo the final button. Dick stared at his hands, feeling betrayed. They'd been steady through defusing deadman switches, but not this. This was a disaster, and Dick was its architect.

Except... Bruce could have taken control at any time. If Bruce wanted a way out, Dick had no doubt Bruce had a half dozen plans. Batman, Dick thought, with a touch of bitterness, would never have trusted Robin on a mission Robin had mucked up so many times already. Not unless his plan hinged on it being Dick's decision. If Bruce didn't want this, Bruce could have stopped it easily. But if Bruce did want this?

This wasn't something Bruce could ask for. Not and be the same man Dick had always known him to be, the man whose honor Dick would defend to the death.

Dick's hands settled on Bruce's shoulders. Bruce waited patiently. It took everything Dick had to gather the courage to pull Bruce in for the kiss. The moment their lips met, it was like a spell broken. Bruce surged against him, devouring him with a hunger equal to the intensity Bruce did anything else. Dick had seen Bruce kiss many people -- well, many women, at any rate, socialites from Bruce Wayne's social circle, the only part of Bruce's life where Dick Grayson never truly belonged. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence that that part of Bruce's life was the biggest lie. When Bruce kissed those women, it had never been with the raw passion Bruce brought to Dick's lip and Dick's mouth now.

Dick's costume hid everything important and nothing that counted now. Pressed together like this, Bruce could feel exactly what Dick's reaction to the kiss was. "I want everything," Dick murmured into Bruce's mouth when they broke for air. The confession slipped out freely, but once said they seemed to suck the air from Dick's lungs. Dick couldn't have said another word, but Bruce had never been a man who needed many words. Those three were enough.

Bruce's hands were in his hair and at his throat, stripping Robin's costume with an efficiency no one on this Earth could have matched and pushing Dick to his knees in one fluid series of motions.

"Batman," Farnstrom announced for the microphone, "likes Robin on his knees. Let's see you put that dangerously pretty mouth of yours to good use."

Bruce freed his cock, already hard and gorgeous, from the confines of his trousers. Dick leaned forward eagerly. Bruce's fingers threaded through Dick's hair, holding firm, and then Bruce took full control. Dick had only to open his mouth to have it filled with cock. Dick ran his tongue up its underside, enjoying its feel. The hand in his tugged him back a little, giving Dick only a split second to prepare himself before Bruce pushed Dick's head so far forward that Dick felt the smooth pressure against the back of his throat. Just as he started to choke, his head was yanked back. But it wasn't a reprieve; Dick was immediately pushed back down, forced to swallow Bruce up. It was perfect. Bruce rhythmically fucked Dick's mouth while Dick braced his hands on his knees and struggled to breathe. He knew Bruce must have been able to feel it when Dick choked, but Bruce's actions betrayed no interest in that fact.

Because it wasn't Bruce fucking him, not really. The crude encouragements ringing in Dick's ears were as fake as the muffled but still theatrical moans Dick was producing. But those were Bruce's hands him, Bruce's lips on him, Bruce's cock on his tongue, and he was never going to forget that feeling. Bruce had to feel the same way, didn't he?

Dick tried to look up to see Bruce's -- or even Farnstrom's -- face, but Bruce's arm blocked his view, and tilting his head made the choking worse. So Dick kept his gaze in front of him and his breathing as steady as he could make it, until at once Bruce pulled Dick off him. Dick felt dizzy, deprived of oxygen and denied what he wanted most. Bruce's wet cock bobbed enticingly in front of Dick's face, still hard as nails. Bruce's breathing was harsh. His eyes were wild as he stared down at Dick, roaming over Dick's reddened lips, bare skin, and cock, hard and straining for attention it hadn't yet received.

He traced the outline of Dick's mask fondly with his free hand, and it was the most intimate touch Dick had ever received. The very threat of unmasking Dick, here where it wasn't safe, solely for Bruce's pleasure, pierced him to the core. Dick ached for Bruce to use him up, to take everything he had to give and more.

Maybe Bruce saw that in his eyes. Suddenly Dick was released. He sagged forward, overwhelmed with the unfairness of it all. Bruce backed away, almost stumbling. Dick flew to his feet, to Bruce's arms, thrust his tongue in Bruce's mouth, and demanded with his body what he, by the rules of their game, had no right to demand.

Farnstrom, to his credit, took the overeager prostitute in stride. He took three long strides with Dick's legs wrapped around his waist before he had Dick up against the wall with his wet cock pushing at Dick's entrance. Dick could not have been more ready. With Bruce hovering there, there was nothing for it but for Dick to push down. Bruce let out a soft moan and his eyes drifted shut.

"Everything?" Bruce whispered, only for Dick. His breath was hot against Dick's ear. "Careful, Robin."

Then Farnstrom was back, sleazy satisfaction covering Bruce's face as thoroughly as any mask could have. And Bruce (or Farnstrom) was moving. The hand wrapped around Dick's cock might have been a little rough, the words might have been wrong, but the rhythm he set inside Dick was perfectly angled and paced to drive Dick over the edge. He came in sticky spurts on the two of them, a moment before Bruce, whiting out with pleasure.

Farnstrom laughed. "Eager slut, aren't you, kid? Cute face and ass like yours oughta have a daddy to treat you right."

 _Fuck Bruce._ But Dick just did, so he found himself laughing too. Dick wanted to grab Bruce and kiss him again. He wanted to collapse in a jellied mess on the painted concrete floor and luxuriate in the moment. But this was business, in more than one sense. Before Dick could get any more ideas about acting on wild impulses, Farnstrom had bent down away to unearth the wallet from his fallen trousers. He pulled out a wad of bills and tucked them into Dick's sweaty palm. Then he stretched and yawned. "See you around, hotpants. I don't want to see you snooping around here again."

Dick stumbled out into the night.

Witness reports say Robin whistled the entire way home.


End file.
